Page 100 of Gilt

“Mom really likes him, and I fucked it up.”

“Um, he really likes seventeen-year-old girls. I’m not entirely certain that you’re not doing her a favor.”

“He didn’t know how old I was. I lied about my age,” she admits.

“Do you do that with all of them?”

“The nice ones,” she says. “Some of them like knowing that I’m younger.”

I shudder thinking about that. I pat the bed next to me, and she comes over to sit down. “So, he was a nice one?”

“Yeah.” It’s not like her to be so quiet, but then again, she’s not usually sorry about who she dates.

“Then he’s going to break up with her, and if he doesn’t, then we’ll figure it out,” I promise.

She rests her head on my shoulder, her curly locks tickling my neck.

“Besides, I have lots of things to tell you that I promise will prove a distraction.”

“Oh,” she claps her hands and jumps to her feet. Scientists should study how rapidly her moods swing. “I want to hear all about it, but first, I’m going to go to the bathroom, okay?”

I nod. Now that Maddox has figured out our little ploy, there’s no need to keep up our Parent Trap pretense. By now, he’ll have delivered news of my shenanigans to Jameson, who’ll hopefully take the hint that I’m not putting up with a bodyguard.

I grab my purse and start taking out Josie’s stuff from our earlier switcheroo. Before I can throw her phone on the bed, a notification pops up for Instagram. It takes me a second to remember what her lock screen code is, but before I can see what photographic delights our friendly, anonymous stalker has in store for us, Josie reappears and snatches it from my hands.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Um, looking at your phone.” It seems obvious to me, but given the shock registered on her face, I guess maybe it’s not to her.

“I didn’t tell you you could look at my phone.”

“What crawled up your snatch?” I ask her.

“You!” she shrieks. “First, you sit there and judge me after I’ve given you a place to sleep, even though you’re keeping things from me.”

Okay, she’s totally lost it. Hadn’t she been fine minutes ago? “I’m not keeping anything from you!”

“Oh, like, where were you going today that I couldn’t tag along?”

“Somewhere where I needed my bodyguard not to go,” I remind her. “I was about to tell you everything I did.”

“Save it, Emma. Ever since you met Jameson West, you’ve been a different person.”

Standing up, I dump the contents of her purse on the bed and grab my phone and wallet. She’s being totally unreasonable. “You think I’m judging you?”

“I know you’re judging me, but you’re too nice to even say it to my face.”

“Fine!” I explode. “You treat these little romances of yours like games, and you always knew someone was going to get hurt. This time it’s your mom. What happens when you ruin someone’s marriage or get some poor schmuck arrested?”

“I’m going to be eighteen soon.” She dismisses my argument with a roll of her eyes.

“But you weren’t always eighteen. How old do these guys even think you are? Wait, don’t answer that because I really don’t want to know anything more about this.”

“Of course, you don’t because you just want to pretend you’re my best friend.”

I have absolutely no clue how things escalated this quickly. A few minutes ago, she was leaning on me for support, and I was preparing to spill my guts about everything that happened in Palm Springs. Now I’m glad I hadn’t. This betrayal cuts deeper than the others I experienced this summer, which is saying something. She’s being irrational, but I’m not going to waste my time telling her that. “I thought I could count on you.”

“You can. Here’s a little judgment for you,” she offers when I reach her bedroom door. “You have a boyfriend accused of murder who’s hired a bodyguard to stalk you. Your stepdaddy is a movie producer, and you’re driving a brand-new Mercedes. Stop acting like we should all feel sorry for you.”